by Erin Snihur
“It is alright, Uncle. I should have been looking where I was going,” Samara blushed and crossed her hands in front of her stomach. “We were just going to take Malik for lunch in the city if you’d like to join us.”
Uncle Artis’ eyes grew wide and he stammered out some excuse, “His Grace is occupied at the moment with someone, your Majesty. I don’t think now is the best time.”
Shaking her head in laughter at Artis’ silly behaviour, Samara pushed past him and her company followed until Artis pushed himself before her and blocked her entrance to Malik’s private study.
“You can’t go in there, your Majesty. His Grace is very busy,” Artis muttered, his eyes shifting to Samara and the others.
“Malik knows we were to go to the city for lunch, Uncle. He’s expecting us,” Samara answered back and raised her hand to brush Artis aside. “Please move.”
Sighing in resignation, Artis dropped his hands and backed away from the door. “Alright. I only wished to spare your feelings.”
Her feelings?
Before she could ask what he was going on about, Artis departed quite quickly and Samara looked to Marcus and Caliyah. “Please wait for us out here.”
At their nods, Samara knocked quietly on the door before pushing through the doors without waiting for a response. She didn’t even make it a step inside and instead had to lean on the large door for support.
Malik wasn’t alone. The Arabian actress, Chantal, was there, wrapped around Malik like a viper. Her arms were entwined around his neck and pressing her thin, stick like body against him as if she could mold into him. As before, red-hot jealousy flooded Samara as well as tears began to fill her eyes blurring the couple, who, upon seeing her at the door, jumped apart.
“Samara, it’s not what it looks like,” Malik yelled out and pushed aside Chantal’s wandering hands.
Shaking her head, Samara’s voice stuttered as she backed away from the door, ignoring Malik’s protests, “It’s exactly what it looks like.”
Fleeing the study and rushing past a confused Marcus and Caliyah, Samara ran and ran until she found herself on the opposite side of the palace in a quiet garden.
She didn’t even get a moment’s respite before a low whistling and the sounds of feet shuffling around the garden path halted at the sight of her hunched over on a garden bench sobbing her eyes out.
“Samara?” her grandfather’s voice called out and she gasped at the sight of him. She hadn’t spoken to her grandfather since the wedding and had barely seen him. Samara hadn’t wanted to see him. Especially not today. He was not the same man she’d respected and looked up to as a child. A greedy monster had replaced the man she once knew.
“Papa,” Samara stood and nodded in acknowledgement, wiping her eyes.
“Why are you crying?” he asked as he placed his hands into the pockets of his navy suit.
Shaking her head, Samara couldn’t answer and she didn’t wish for her grandfather to hear her shame. “It is nothing. I am just feeling sad.”
Scoffing, her grandfather waved an absent hand in her direction. “You women and your hormones. Whenever your mother or grandmother were sad I sent them on trips. Did them good to get away for awhile. Of course, it was on one of those trips that your mother met your father. Foolish girl.”
Samara ignored the rest of his grumbled statement as the thought brought an idea to her mind. She did need to get away and she knew exactly where to go. Somewhere where she would be welcome and safe from the sight of Malik and his mistress.
The Arabian country of Aman and she knew the man who would be willing to help her escape Batra. Uncle Artis.
“Keep searching. She can’t have gotten far,” Malik growled to the guards who stood as silent as sentries in his study. As they departed, Malik pushed away from his desk and, in a burst of anger, threw the remaining papers and artifacts off his desk, not caring where they landed.
Malik hadn’t expected the day to go as it had. He’d been through stressful meetings all morning and had been looking forward to a peaceful lunch and afternoon with Samara before Chantal had appeared. He hadn’t even known she had returned to the palace. When he realized she wasn’t just here to pay her respects, Malik couldn’t convince Chantal to leave. The woman had demanded they start up their relationship again, Malik had denied her. At the sound of someone knocking at the door, Malik hadn’t been able to stop Chantal as she’d flung herself on top of him just as the doors opened.
Samara hadn’t deserved to see that and he prayed she would find a way to forgive him and let him explain. If he could ever find her, that is.
“Something wrong?” a voice queried behind him and Malik had to close his eyes and clench his fists to keep from busting Hamda’s face in.
“Your granddaughter has gone missing from the palace,” Malik growled through clenched teeth.
“How odd. I saw her just at lunch in the west gardens before she scurried off to do something,” Hamda murmured.
“She hasn’t been seen since before then,” Malik shouted. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Hamda chuckled. “Come now boy, you don’t have to pretend you care for my granddaughter. I know this whole marriage was only because you wanted access to my companies. Samara knows it and has accepted it. Why can’t you?”
Swinging about to face the old, gruff man, Malik strode forward, grasping the older man by the collar of his shirt. “You told me Samara wanted to become a princess. That she knew about the agreement.”
Hamda shrugged. “You wanted my companies and I wanted access to Batra’s commodities. We both win. What does it matter what Samara wants. She did as I commanded.”
A lightbulb in Malik’s head brightened as he realized he had been staring the answer in the face these last few minutes. Hamda. He had been the one to abuse Samara. He had forced her to marry him. She’d never wanted to marry him and yet, she’d done it. To escape her grandfather.
Throwing back his fist, Malik didn’t stop it in enough time as it collided with the old man’s jaw and he fell to the floor. Calling for his guards, Malik breathed heavily as Hamda swore from his place on the floor, clutching his now bruising jaw.
“Batra will not do business with a low life who abuses women. Those contracts are null and void as of today. Guards, see that this man is taken to the airport and boarded on the earliest flight out of Batra. He is not to return or else he will be arrested on sight,” Malik growled out and, as he turned toward the doors of his study, he met the gaze of his Uncle.
As the guards dragged an angry and cursing Hamda away, Malik grasped the ice dish at his bar table and dunked his now sore fist into it. “Now is not the time, Uncle.”
“I believe it is, my boy,” Uncle Artis murmured and closed the study doors behind him. “I know where Samara is.”
Keeping his fist dunked in the ice, Malik turned his body to glare at his uncle. “Where is she?”
“I sent her to Aman. She wished to spend some time away from Batra with Khalid and Amelia,” his Uncle answered and clasped his hands before him. “She was very distraught over your indiscretion.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Malik forced out through clenched teeth and removed his hand from the ice, drying it with a soft towel. “We need to ready the plane.”
“I don’t think that is wise, Malik,” Uncle Artis spoke up.
“Why not?” Malik growled and moved forward toward the older man who swallowed nervously.
“I believe you should give your wife a few days to think things over. She is a smart woman, she will make the right decision and return to you,” Uncle Artis nervously stammered. “I didn’t want to help her, but she was distraught and said if I didn’t help her, she would leave by herself, without protection. I couldn’t let what happened to your father and brother, happen to your wife as well.”
Malik’s mind reeled. “You helped her? What does this have to do with my father and brother?”
“They did not think the threat of death w
as real at the time. I tried to warn them, but they wouldn’t listen. I am only thinking of your interests, Malik. I can tell how much you love Samara. She will understand, but give her a few days to set herself straight before you go to her and force her home.”
Malik’s mind focused on that word. Forced. Samara had been forced to give up her dreams in England, forced to endure her grandfather’s abuse and forced to marry him. His uncle was right. He needed to give her some time to make the decisions for herself.
“What do you suggest I do, Uncle?” Malik asked and watched as his Uncle’s eyes lit up.
“The Sheik of Aman is having a celebration for his fiance’s change in citizenship. I suggest you woo her the same way you wooed her that first night at Hamda’s charity ball,” Uncle Astir excitedly produced an invitation card from his suit pocket.
“How did you know about…” Before Malik could finish his sentence, Uncle Astir held up a hand. “Fine, even if she would take me back, I can’t force her to do it. Samara deserves to live her life on her own terms, not her grandfather’s and certainly not mine. You win, Uncle, Batra will be yours.”
Uncle Astir scoffs and waves his hand. “I told your father to remove that ridiculous clause from his will. You are the rightful Sheik of Batra, Malik. I see that now.”
“It matters not without Samara by my side,” Malik murmured, testing his sore fist.
“It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is getting your wife back, my nephew.”
Malik nodded and stared down at the invitation which requested he and Samara’s presence in a mere few days. He would be there. And he would do the right thing. Give Samara a choice.
18
Samara watched as Amelia’s riding lesson continued in the paddock of the Aman palace stables. Sheik of Aman, Khalid, was calling out instructions as he held a long rope attached to the horse’s lead and turning in a circle in the center as Amelia and the horse moved as one around Khalid. Amelia had been right. The horse was beautiful. Malik had chosen well.
Don’t think about him, Samara! her mind screamed at her.
Arriving at night in Aman with her guards rushing her to the Sheik’s palace had been enough to distract her from her husband's betrayal. But upon seeing Amelia and Khalid, looking so happy with one another, Samara had promptly burst into tears in Amelia’s outstretched arms and explained everything.
From the night that Malik and Samara had met, to just that day when she’d walked in on him with Chantal, Samara had never seen the normally calm Khalid so angry as he did when she’d informed them of Malik’s affair, launching into heated Arabic that was too fast for Samara to keep up with. It had taken Amelia’s calm grace to hush her soon-to-be husband and escort Samara to her own private quarters to get some rest.
That had been days ago without a word from Malik or anyone in Batra. At one point over the last few days, Khalid had revealed how angry he was that Malik was not only ignoring his calls, but their other friends’ as well. No one could get ahold of him and Batra’s borders were closed off as of the day Samara fled. They hadn’t been opened back up, not even when Samara had given Khalid permission to tell Malik where she was. If he even cared, she thought sadly.
Ever the optimist, Amelia had been sure this was all a misunderstanding and, instead, had taken Samara around Aman and introduced her to so many things about the mysterious country of Aman. She’d met all of Khalid’s family and even helped Amelia choose her dress for the celebration Khalid was holding that very night.
“Very good, ya amar,” Khalid called out as Amelia slowed her horse into a short pace before ending in front of Samara. The beautiful, pale skinned woman grinned down at Samara.
“I think I have a good teacher,” Amelia called back before winking to Samara who laughed along with her.
As Amelia slid down the Arabian stallion’s side and gave him a pat and a treat from her pocket, stable hands appeared to take the horse from their soon-to-be Sheikha’s hands.
Nodding at the stable hands, Khalid enveloped Amelia in a tight hug and placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “Cheeky woman.”
Samara looked away. She couldn’t watch the love that poured out of Amelia and Khalid’s relationship in waves. It was as if they were mocking her, but she knew they weren’t.
As if sensing her detachment, Amelia spoke up, “Why don’t we start getting ready for tonight. Khalid, don’t you have to go wrangle up Tariq and Amoz?”
Samara’s ears perked up at the mention of the famous Arabian Sheiks. They were all friends with her own husband.
“What about the other one? Kasin?” Samara queried. She had only met the man briefly and, from what she had seen at her wedding, he enjoyed trying to drink himself into an early grave.
Shaking his head in frustration, Khalid ran his hands through his hair. “Kasin will not be attending. He apparently could only afford to leave Masarat for a short while to attend your wedding and then had to return. His country is going through hard times. Chaotic times, I fear.”
“That is so sad,” Samara murmured. “Isn’t there anything that can be done?”
“No,” Khalid murmured back, his eyes hard as steel, and Samara knew the reserved man wouldn’t say a thing more about his friend. Their bond was too strong to reveal such secrets to her. A stranger.
Perhaps I’ve overstayed my welcome, Samara worried, but where could I go?
Inside Amelia’s private dressing chambers, Samara watched as a beautiful headdress of ivory and silk was placed on Amelia’s head and the beautiful woman spun a bit to see the entire picture.
“You look beautiful, Amelia,” Samara called out from her seat at her own dressing table.
“We both do,” Amelia called out. “I love your hair pulled back that way.”
Samara’s hair was partially wrapped in a simple display and braided down her back. Her diamond encrusted gown reminded her of that night she had first met Malik at her grandfather’s charity ball.
“Malik was invited. As were you, of course, but I can ask Khalid to rescind the invitation to Malik. There is still time,” Amelia murmured as if sensing where Samara’s thoughts had headed.
Shaking her head as best she could while the maids put the finishing touches on her makeup and dress, Samara forced herself to smile. “I don’t care if he’s there. If I see him, I will simply look the other way.”
Amelia smiled softly. “There are plenty of balconies to escape to if you need some fresh air. I can still remember feeling so overwhelmed that first night I was invited to a celebration held in our honor. There were so many people to talk to, it became difficult to breath.”
Samara grinned back at her newfound friend. “I am used to these things by now. My grandfather would often hold galas and balls. Mostly to network with people he wished to do business with.”
As the maids departed and left Samara and Amelia alone for a few minutes, Samara stood to full height and on her heels walked toward the bride-to-be.
“Are you nervous about marrying Khalid?” Samara asked.
“Not about marrying him. Mostly about ensuring the marriage goes off without a hitch. His family have some insane demands as to how the wedding should be performed. Plus, Khalid wishes his brother would accept our marriage. It has been hard for him to be apart from Maarku,” Amelia said softly before turning back to Samara sensing her deflated mood. “Why?” Amelia asked, curious.
“I just wondered. I can remember how nervous I was about marrying Malik and look where that’s left me,” Samara muttered and threw her arms about the room as if to emphasize her point.
Taking Samara’s hands in hers, Amelia’s smile broke through her painted lips. “Everything will work itself out. I have no doubts. You and Malik are meant for each other. I see the same spark between you two as I saw between Khalid and myself.”
A loud knock at the door forced the two women to jump apart and, at Amelia’s laugh, she called for the person to enter. Instead of one person, it was two people. Khalid and Sheik
Amoz of Elish.
After introducing Samara to Amoz again, the foursome departed the rooms, Amelia on Khalid’s arm and Samara on Amoz’s arm.
As they arrived at the large doors to the ballroom to be announced, Amoz leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Go to the furthest balcony.”
Turning to him in confusion, Samara pointed toward the doors where Khalid and Amelia were waiting to open so that the royal couple could be introduced. “I have to go in.”
Shaking his head, Amoz nodded toward a small balcony off to the side of the room, “Take that door and go to the furthest balcony.”
Instead of pulling her toward where Amelia and Khalid disappeared into the ballroom, Amoz made the trek to the doors to be announced and briefly glanced over his shoulder before sending her a wink and a nod toward the small balcony.
Alone in the receiving room, Samara stared toward the doors which led to the ballroom and the small door that led to the little balcony Amoz had mentioned. Clutching her fingers tightly together, Samara ignored the hum of conversation and music coming from the ballroom and strode out onto the balcony.
The balcony overlooked the Aman deserts and setting sun, so unlike Batra and their beautiful, green garden views. Sighing, Samara followed the candles lighting the balcony ledge until she drew to a halt at the end of the furthest balcony. Beautiful flowers littered the area. From white blooms to beautifully painted blooms, Samara quickly looked behind her to see if anyone had followed, but she was indeed alone. Stepping under the floral archway, Samara leaned against the railing of the balcony and gazed out over the setting sun that passed a warm glow over the desert and cities of Aman.
As she leaned down to inhale one of the beautiful bouquets of flowers, the spicy scent of cigar smoke had her freezing in her place. Standing to full height, Samara spun around and came face to face with her husband.
Deja vu.
While Malik was leaning in the corner of the palace walls smoking that familiar cigar, he did look somewhat different. There were definite bags under his eyes and his facial hair had grown much more pronounced. His form still cut quite nicely in his expensive dark suit and his eyes never left hers as he took the cigar out of his mouth and puffed out the smoke.